


A Beam In Darkness

by mansikka



Series: Shade Falls On Us [7]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Hope, M/M, POV Alec, Sick Alec Lightwood, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-12-26 12:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Time is running out for Alec, but a memory comes to him in the middle of the night that might help him find his way back. Is he prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice?





	A Beam In Darkness

It comes to Alec in the middle of the night, when they’re both bone weary from crying and trying to take as much of each other as is possible before it’s too late. His limbs are heavy, mostly for the venom that’s slowly defeating him, but also for some other, more pleasant activities as well.

Alec smiles at Magnus lit by the muted light of their bedside lamp, presses an absent kiss to his forehead for how peaceful he looks, then takes several minutes to study every line of his face. Not memorizing, he tells himself, because it might be that still gets taken from him, but to savor all that Magnus has to offer here in this moment; because there really is no better, other time.

He slides out of bed, careful not to jostle it too much, snatches up the sweatpants discarded on the floor, and creeps out of the room with them in hand, having to perch on the end of the couch to pull them up over his feet before he can stand and tug them up; the effort of which has him clutching the back of the couch for support for a few seconds before he can even move.

In the past few weeks, however long he’s been here like this, Alec has taken to reading. There’s little else he can do with his day when he lacks much strength to stray outside unless Magnus is there to prop him up, so he’s been working his way through Magnus’ bookshelves. Tome upon tome of ancient warlock etchings, and stories, fables, and half-truths about Downworlders and the lives they lead.

There’s other stuff there too, of course, including a very different view of the Shadowhunters than the one he’s grown up with, but given what he’s learned of the Downworld since Magnus came into his life, not an unfair one, he thinks.  

But what he’s looking for right now, wincing up at the minimum light he’s bathed the room in, in the hope of not disturbing Magnus through the crack of the door with anything too bright, is possibly the most horrifying book he’s ever read. It’s thick, black with a green shimmer as though its very bindings are made from demon ichor. And it’s heavy; so heavy, that in his weakened state Alec struggles to scrape it down from the shelves, dropping it on to the couch cushions with a relieved huff before throwing himself down beside it.  

Alec turns the pages slowly, fearing the rustle of the ancient paper is enough to rouse Magnus from his sleep, but a few pages in and he’s too absorbed, fighting back waves of revulsion at the images in front of him.

The venom calls to him; Alec closes his eyes and pleads with his body to wait it out, just a little more. From the time he glanced at on his way out the bedroom he’s still got an hour before he’s due his next dose, and he wants to push that back as long as he is able. He doesn’t know how strong he’s going to be to do that, but he bargains with himself in half hour segments, determined to find the story he was looking for.

It is little more than a story, Alec thinks, sweeping a thumb over the image on the page with a grimace, but within a story there’s surely got to be a little hope. He stares at the picture, wills it into existence, or at least, its possibility, and wonders how they could ever make this work.

The picture is of a warrior, a Shadowhunter covered in faint, faded runes. He stares proudly at Alec out of the page, the curve of his lip that mocking sort of smile he sometimes sees coming from Jace. But he isn’t merely a Shadowhunter, Alec thinks with a jolt to his stomach that might be excitement, or even just futile hope; his eyes fall down the page to the man’s hands, the first clasped round a seraph blade jutting out of a thigh holster, and the second extended outwards, with flames dancing up out of his palm.  

His eyes are wild, like fledgling stars, but there’s humanity lurking beneath them. This creature—this former Shadowhunter staring back at him—could very well be Alec’s future, if it’s even a possibility. If it’s a future he gets to have.  

Alec reads the details he can make out on the page, getting more from the scattering of line drawings than the words themselves, since they are in some ancient, foreign tongue. But the gist is clear; the Shadowhunter is centuries old, evidence of his former life still etched into his skin. Yet there is no mistaking the fact that he is a warlock.

Alec thinks of Magnus laid out in their bed and smiles at the memory of marks on _his_ skin, sealed in there temporarily with his own teeth, instead of any angelic runes.

But that’s the thing, Alec thinks as his mind switches back, telling himself not to get his hopes up; other people must have hoped for this possibility as well—or at least, parts of it. He’s read all the files on Valentine, knows how he injected himself with both angel and demon blood in the hope of superiority. He knows things didn’t work out so well for Valentine—which is, of course, the best outcome for everyone else—but there has to be something in it. Alec has no desire for the dominance, the control that Valentine sought, and if anything, his experiences have made him about as neutral a Shadowhunter as it’s possible to get. So in theory, if a Shadowhunter becoming a warlock was ever truly going to be a possibility, Alec would be as good a candidate as any.  

Wouldn’t he?

Alec flinches at the thought of becoming anything like Valentine, and it leaves him sinking against the couch cushions, dropping his head to rest along its back.   

What he can make out from the scribblings on the page when he looks back up is the basics of a spell. He’d need it translating, of course, and spells aren’t anything he’s ever had to deal with, but maybe it’s a thing he’d get used to if—

Alec tells himself to calm, not get ahead of himself, and returns to studying the page.  

The images accompanying the story seem to suggest a complicated process involving a combination of both angel and demon blood, along with several rituals that he thinks must be allegorical for the difficult things they demand. But if it is possible, if he’s not just desperately clutching at straws, then there may be a way out of the nightmare he’s been living in. A way for him to continue to exist, and not just exist, but to become immortal.  

Alec can’t help feeling a little skeptical about that.

They haven’t spoken about immortality, he and Magnus, not for a long time, anyway. There had been a half-hearted suggestion that they’d discuss it properly again one day, but so far that hasn’t happened. He doesn’t like to burden Magnus with anything unpleasant, and the curse Magnus sometimes views his immortality as, has got to be the worst, for everything he's always destined to lose. And truth be told, Alec doesn’t know how he feels about endless years stretching out in front of him, watching his family and friends wither and age around him, the whole world changing before his eyes.  

He does know he needs more time by Magnus’ side than what is currently allotted to him.

Magnus.

Magnus would be worth such a sacrifice, to give up the very life he has always known simply so he can go on _living_. And there are many, Alec thinks, that would view becoming immortal as no sacrifice at all. To be forever living, without the pain and deterioration of old age, he’s sure to some would seem the ultimate gift. But it _is_ a sacrifice, in many ways, because he really will lose everyone that is mortal from his world. And what is he to do with such a stretch of time, he adds to himself, when he can no longer do all he’s ever known? There's no way the Clave would accept him back in if he is technically a  _Downworlder_ , after all.

There’d be plenty of time to figure all that out, Alec huffs to himself, pinching over his weary eyes and allowing his head to fall back once again.

“Do you need the venom?”

Alec looks up to see Magnus leaning in the doorway sleepily rubbing his eyes, not having taken the time he had himself to throw on something to wear, and in doing so giving him the most beautiful view imaginable. Magnus stripped down to nothing but himself—not that Alec doesn’t appreciate all of the flourishes and furnishings Magnus adorns himself with—is a sight Alec will never get enough of. To be the only one Magnus literally bares himself to, every part of himself; Alec is certain he will never get over that particular gift.

Could he be immortal for Magnus? Would Magnus even want him to be?

“I was trying to hold out,” Alec admits, his mouth curving up into an apologetic smile for the despair that visibly ripples through Magnus’ body.  

“Couldn’t sleep?” Magnus calls, making his way over to the kitchen since they’ve found the venom keeps best in the fridge. Alec waits until he comes back into view before answering him.

“I have an idea,”

“Oh?” Magnus says, setting the glass with the careful measure of venom down on the table. Alec tries not to look at it, tries not to want it, tells himself to focus on Magnus sinking down to sit beside him, belatedly noticing the book in his lap. “What’s this?”

* * *

“Alec,” Magnus smiles when he reveals his thinking, in that way he does when he’s trying to protect Alec from something he won't like, “this is… merely a story,” and Alec had already anticipated him saying those very words.

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees, watching Magnus as he turns the pages anyway, “but there’s truth to a lot of stories,”

“All the legends are true?” Magnus offers with a smile, though his eyes immediately turn back to the page.

“Something like that,” Alec says, kissing his shoulder, then wrapping his arm around him, attempting to focus on the feel of Magnus pressed beside him, and the book they’re reading; not the venom sitting within grasping distance. Just a few more minutes, he tells himself; just a few.

“And besides,” Magnus adds, snuggling against him, “this isn’t some spell that would merely cure you of this… dependency,”

“I know,” Alec agrees, “it’d make me like you. A warlock,”

“Alec—”

“I mean,” Alec quickly amends, thinking that might have come out a little egotistical; no spell will ever make him anywhere near as powerful as Magnus, he knows that. “I only meant, it’d make me a warlock. A regular kind of warlock. A—”

“Alexander,” Magnus says again, in that sweet way he does when he thinks Alec’s being endearing, “I know what you meant. But you are talking about a spell that would render you—”

“Immortal,” Alec finishes for him, nodding towards the page, “I know. I read the small print. At least, I read the pictograms of the small print,”

Magnus stares at him curiously, as though trying to figure him out.  

“Magnus,” Alec says, and it’s no good, he can’t put it off any longer; stretching out for the glass without looking, he downs the venom in one, forcing the glass away again before he licks the thing clean for even more. “I know what I’m asking here. I know this is… a big deal. And I’d understand if you didn’t want—”

“If _I_ didn’t want?” Magnus repeats, his eyes blowing wide, and Alec takes that as confirmation. He shouldn’t have presumed, he thinks, slumping back a little further and trying not to allow his selfishness make him wriggle from Magnus’ side. He should just appreciate the time he’s given him, and leave Magnus free to lead whatever lives—love whatever people—after he’s gone.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, coaxing him, calling him back from retreating into himself, and since he’s only just taken the venom, he has the wits about him to do just that.

“It’s selfish. Isn’t it,” he says, trying to twist his lips into a smile.

“You’re serious,” Magnus says then, turning a little towards him looking increasingly startled by the second.

“Of course I am,” Alec replies, “you think I wanna… you think I wanna die, addicted to demon venom?”

“I—”

“You think I wanna leave you,” Alec continues, “if I get the chance not to?”

There’s a look on Magnus’ face that Alec wishes he could interpret. It’s not pain, or fear, or even regret that he’s about to turn him down. It’s sort of suspended, unanimated as though he can’t process what Alec’s telling him.  

“You… you want to spend your life with me. Indefinitely,” Magnus says, and it’s slow, as though he’s trying to get used to the sound of the words on his own tongue.

“Well,” Alec says, looking back at him cautiously, “I know we… we put off talking about—that kinda stuff for a while, but… the longer I’m with you, the longer I wanna be with you. I don’t… if I get the chance not to leave you… if I get the chance to be with you, always, then I’m… I mean, you’d have to want it too, of course, and I understand if—”

“Alexander,” he hears, but then nothing but sobs pressed into his neck as Magnus throws himself at him. He hugs him back, but Alec is not sure what the tears are for, nor why he’s so desperately clinging to him.

“Magnus—”

“You want to be with me. Indefinitely,” Magnus says when he pulls back, looking at him with utter incredulity.

“If you’ll have me,” Alec stutters out after a confused pause.

“If I’ll _have_ you?” Magnus replies, and his voice is bordering on condescending. “If I’ll—” but then he’s cutting himself off, this time by claiming Alec’s mouth in a kiss so brutal, he’s convinced he might taste blood.

“Alec,” he calls desperately when he’s finished, squeezing his forearms so tightly it’s bound to leave bruises, “I don’t… I’ve never heard of this being possible,”

“Me neither,” Alec agrees, seeing the desperate hope sparking in Magnus' eyes and being both buoyed and winded by it, “but there’s got to be something in it, right? Got to be worth a try,”

“Alec—”

“I don’t wanna go like this,” he hisses, glaring over at the glass before staring back at Magnus and gripping him back harder, “and if I get the chance to—”

“This could be dangerous, Alexander. It _will_ be dangerous,”

“And my alternative is dying, stuck inside my own head as my body wastes away,” Alec retorts, “I think I’ll take my chances,”

“Alec—”

“Unless of course, you really don’t want that with me,” Alec says then, making himself withdraw yet again. It’s selfish to assume. Of course, they could still try the spell, and if he does become immortal, he doesn’t have to glue himself to Magnus. He doesn’t have to burden him with himself for all of eternity. But if he can get past this, have a chance at existence that is more than being tied to an inch of venom in a tumbler glass every few hours, then he wants to take it, whatever the outcome. Maybe he can do some good. Broker further peace between Shadowhunters and Downworlders elsewhere that might prove lasting, and widespread. Protect the—

“You misunderstand me, Alexander,” Magnus says, kissing him to get his attention once again, “the thought of having you forever— _my_ idea of forever; not yours—is truly a gift that I… I’ve never had anyone even _think_ they want me for that long,”

“ _I_ want you for that long,” Alec counters, unsurprised when his own voice trembles. This is so much he’s asking of Magnus, he knows that, but he can't help but hope for it now that he's let himself  _have_ hope.  

Magnus bursts into tears again, and leans back from him for a moment to compose himself, before smiling at him through tear-flooded eyes.

“Are you okay?” Alec asks, and Magnus whimpers, carefully cradles his face in his hands, and leans forward for the sweetest of kisses before dropping their foreheads together.

“Alexander; if I get to keep you. If I get to view this world with you by my side, then I am more than okay. I just… you need to be clear about what it is this will mean for you—if it even works,”

“Magnus,” Alec says, twisting so that he can clasp Magnus’ hands between his own, “I… I wish I had more time to think about it. I do; but this venom, it’s… this is killing me, Magnus. Literally. It’s… taking all that I am. It’s already taken all that I am. And I can’t… I can’t… I can't imagine this getting any worse, but it’s going to; I know it is. I can _feel_ it is. I don’t… I don’t want that,”

Alec allows himself to see the images of his remaining days that he’s been pretending weren’t going to happen, and can’t hold back the fearful tears that erupt from him. He’s terrified by the prospect; to go like that, to lose full control of himself; he can’t imagine anything worse. Trying a spell for immortality that might not even exist is more than drastic, and there’s no guarantee it’ll work; but the alternative is… unbearable.

“Plus,” he says, like Magnus has been privy to his internal conversation, “if the _downside_ to… to getting over this… this _thing_ , is… getting you forever, I… I win. I win, Magnus, whatever I do. Anything… everything, is better than this,”

“You are sure,” Magnus says, gripping on to him so tightly it’s like he fears Alec might slip through his fingers.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he retorts, because why wouldn’t he? This is… were there time to overthink this situation, perhaps he would be more frightened, but he hasn’t got time for that. He has to make this decision, now, and deal with the consequences of it after, whatever they will be. He’s not fooling himself into thinking there won’t be any fallout. But he has to do this _now_ , while he still can. While he still has a shred of fight left in him to do anything.

Magnus stares back at him for another minute as though he’s making absolutely, totally sure. And then he’s kissing him, pulling him closer, spilling out fresh tears. These ones are different though, Alec thinks, they’re happy ones. Hopeful ones at least, because they’re going to try this. They’re going to try.

* * *

Magnus is terrified for him.

He stands with his back to the window, outlined by waning daylight, overseeing the images forming under Clary’s chalked fingers, with his eyes forever flicking over to where Alec sits.

Alec is too weak to do much else.  

It’s been three weeks since his epiphany about the book he’d been reading, and Alec knows that however things go, the life he knows will be over very soon. It’s a humbling thought, a frightening one even, but he hasn’t really got the time to dwell on it; too focused on holding himself together for the final onslaught of the spell. If the venom doesn’t come to claim him first, of course.

They’re cutting it too fine; everyone involved knows that. But it’s taken these three long weeks to gather together all the things they need for the spell to stand a chance of working, as well as Magnus poring over the spell itself in fine detail to make sure he’s got everything right.

They’re both scared it’s all going to come to nothing, in fact they all are, but no one wants to jinx things by admitting that out loud.  

The rituals have been… overwhelming. Alec is sure that the effort he’s had to go through to drag himself through them has contributed to how much his need for the venom has exponentially grown, but there’s no real way of knowing for sure—or any way to do anything about it. This is where they are now, where they find out if all their efforts have been in vain or not.  

Clary lifts her head to smile up at him as she draws, and he offers a weak one back, sorry for both the tiredness beneath her eyes, and the harsh words he’s said to her in the past. She’s been incredible through this, as has everyone, but Clary’s pushing herself so hard that she’s got to be exhausted. Both her and Jace have donated blood for the spell, because it called for angel-tainted blood of a source outside of the vessel to receive it, and they’re hoping that because of the strength of the angel blood running both through her and Jace’s veins, it’ll help to make the spell even stronger—even counteract the venom that’s running through Alec’s own.  

She’s been here for hours, Alec thinks, his eyes drifting over the complicated interwoven patterns she’s been painstakingly adding to the walls and floor, and even the ceiling with difficulty.

Alec raises his head to look at the chalk drawing above him, but the movement makes him dizzy, so he drops it back down, squeezes his eyes shut for a second.

“Alexander?”

Alec smiles before he opens them again, sure his heart might explode from his chest with love for Magnus at times, glancing his way to reassure him, then goes back to letting his eyes drift around the room.  

Jace and Izzy are quietly talking in a corner, and they’re both casting glances in his direction, just long enough for him to catch the fear on both of their faces—and in particular the tiredness on Jace’s, having donated twice as much blood as Clary just because he’s a stubborn bastard and didn’t want her to drain herself. Not that Alec’s happy with anyone draining themselves of anything for him, he adds to himself, remembering each and every huff of complaint he’s received for voicing such a thing. Those complaints have all been followed by brightness in the eyes, and Alec’s own feel like they are almost constantly stinging for the affection, emotion, and outpouring of love he’s been receiving.

The people he loves are… incredible, Alec thinks with a tired smile, willing his eyes to stay open, though it’s a real fight not to allow them to drift closed.

Magnus has a book in his hand, reciting and rehashing the spell under his breath, and Alec watches the dance of his fingers as he practices the flourishes of his magic. By the time this is done, he’s going to be drained as well, and the thought settles uncomfortably on Alec. He’s taken so very much of Magnus already, and though no magical draining will be permanent, Alec hates the idea of how much he continually takes.

Magnus would berate him for thinking such things, but he’s too focused right then to do that mind-reading thing he frequently seems to do with Alec, so Alec’s safe in his own thoughts for a good few minutes, surveying the people around him as they work and talk.

The final ingredient is, of course, demon blood. Magnus has been researching the perfect demon with Catarina, and she has one trapped, just waiting for Magnus’ instruction to drain it of all its blood before joining them. It’s powerful, whatever the demon is, though Magnus hasn’t told him its name; Catarina is holding it in place with several warlock wards, so by the time the ritual of this spell is over, that will be two drained warlocks Alec has to his name. He hopes if this works he’ll be able to repay them both adequately, but doesn’t know how he would even start.

If. If this works. If.

There is enough venom waiting in their fridge for Alec to have perhaps another half dozen doses, and he’s decided that if this spell doesn’t work out, that those doses will be his last. Whatever happens, whatever state it leaves him in, he doesn’t want to go on like this. He’ll have Magnus wipe him of his memories and make him as comfortable as he can, and then he’ll—  

“Alexander,” Magnus calls, breaking him from his maudlin musings as he comes to stand before him and takes his hands, “are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Alec answers with more conviction than he feels, struggling to his feet and allowing Magnus to guide him to the circle in the middle of Clary’s creations. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to keep upright in however many minutes this is going to take—or longer, he fears. His legs are already little more than a tremble, and if it wasn’t for Magnus holding him up, he’s sure he’d have already crashed to the floor.

If they weren’t all fearful that a final dose of venom might counteract the spell entirely, he’d be taking the lot of it, just to keep him steady.

“Magnus,” he says, and he doesn’t have to say anything else. As though they’ve planned it—and for all Alec knows, they have—Jace, Izzy, and Clary step forward, with Jace walking behind and guiding him to lean back against his chest with a tight grip on his waist, and Izzy and Clary both propping him up under an armpit with their free hands curling through his own. He’s supported as much as he can be, and Magnus steps back with a tremble in his lip, looking just as touched by the gesture as Alec is feeling.

“I think we’re ready,” Magnus announces with a final glance around the room, letting his eyes drift back to Alec’s and offering up a tiny smile.

“You’ll be okay,” Clary turns to tell Alec then, and she follows it up with an unexpected kiss to the cheek that Izzy immediately echoes, leaning back and smiling as she reaches out to wipe away a tear she’s left behind.

“You can do this, big brother,” she says, conviction in her words, though a tremble rumbling in her voice.

“You can,” Jace echoes, raising a hand to clasp hard around his shoulder for a second, before returning it to his waist to help keep him up.

Alec says nothing, doesn’t trust his voice not to break, and he’s saving whatever words are left in him for Magnus.

He watches Magnus, smiling back at him weakly as he contacts Catarina, never taking his eyes from him.

Magnus has given so much of himself in this, Alec thinks to himself again, still working out how he might ever repay him. From converting that spare room he’d set up for Alec and Jace’s sparring for the arrangements needed for the spell and rituals, to his time, effort, probably wealth to purchase hard-got ingredients; Magnus has given so much of himself to Alec, that Alec fears there really won’t be a way to pay him back—in any number of lifetimes.

He’s going to try though, Alec thinks, determined; if he gets through this, he’s going to give Magnus just about everything there is to give a person. He doesn’t know what that entails, exactly, but Alec figures if this works he’ll have time to figure that out along with everything else.

If. If it works. If.

Catarina appears then, carrying what seems to Alec to be a gallon of blood. She turns a smile for him, cautiously excited that Magnus might love someone who loves him enough to do the ultimate sticking around, though fearful that if this doesn’t work out she won’t be able to help mend his broken heart. She’s told him that herself, bluntly though not unkindly—out of Magnus’ earshot, of course.  

I don’t want to break his heart, Alec thinks to himself, and it’s as though he’s whispered it directly into her ear, because she pauses from turning away from him, and offers up a brighter smile.   

The binds of the spell are already working; maybe that’s why he’s stood in the circle already in the first place, and also why Jace, Clary, and Izzy are careful to prop him up the way they are, without stepping into that central circle themselves. Alec pleads with himself to find the strength to hold himself up when the time comes.

The binds are snaking their way up his legs, digging into him like that barbed wired he’s seen on the top of Mundane fencing. He wonders if the real thing stings quite as much, and struggles not to show any sign of pain.

Magnus doesn’t miss a thing, of course, turning back from preparing the vat he and Catarina are pouring the blood and other ingredients into, and offering up a sorrowful smile.

“Are you ready?” he asks again, stepping closer to him when the last of ingredients are in, coming to a stop directly in front of him and appearing to hold his breath.

“As I can be,” Alec tells him, offering up his own weak smile in return.

“Then we should get started,” which seems to be the cue for Alec’s supporters to step away from him.

“Good luck,” he hears Jace mutter from beyond his shoulder, and Alec wants to offer up a sarcastic retort, but he doesn’t want to waste any energy doing anything other than getting through this spell, so says nothing.

The binds around his legs seem to lock him in place, so Alec’s initial fear that he’d tumble to the ground seem to have been for nothing. He can’t tell if that’s part of the spell, or something additional that Magnus has conjured to help him out, but either way he’s grateful, free to use whatever little energy is remaining in him to watch the spell begin to be performed.

It’s complicated, he knows that, can tell by the concentration on the faces of both Catarina and Magnus, the quiet, respectful silence emanating from his siblings stood behind. There’s magic Alec’s never seen flying from the warlocks’ fingers, and he has an idle thought that perhaps he might end up being student to these mentors to learn to use magic of his own.

The things rising up from the vat look ominous, and Alec wonders if he’s supposed to drink what’s in it, or bathe in it, or if something else is required of him that he’s not sure he’ll be able to perform. He’ll try though, whatever it is, whatever it takes. This is important; this is everything. A huge part of it is purely for him—for his own survival, but so much of it is for Magnus. Magnus deserves to know someone loves him so much that they would give up the essence of who they are to be with him, and considering Alec’s alternative, this is truly no sacrifice at all. So whatever difficulty this is going to bring him, it is worth it; even if it fails.

“Are you ready?” Magnus says once more as he comes to a stop in front of him again, this time reaching out to press one hand to his cheek. More than anything Alec wants to hold him back in some way, but those binds have now crept their way up over his torso and arms, so all he can do is nod, offer up a smile he hopes doesn’t look too nervous, and kiss back when he is kissed.

“I love you, so much,” he manages to stumble out, and Magnus’ eyes flood with tears, his watery smile proving to be Alec’s undoing, his own tears beginning to fall on his cheeks.

“And I love you,” Magnus tells him, his jaw shaking with the effort of trying to hold himself together.  

Alec closes his eyes for a second through exhaustion, springing them open again at the feel of a kiss, then forehead, pressing against his own. And then Magnus is pulling back with a look of determination in his eyes, beginning to flourish his hands and conjure swirls and ribbons of magic.  

Alec gets the sense of rising and falling within himself, and then a heat punches through his core, and he knows the final ritual has truly begun.  

* * *

 

 


End file.
